


12DaysofJATP - I'll be home for Christmas

by LWhoScribbles



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: 12DaysofJATP, Angst, Christmas, Christmas Music, Family, Lots of Crying, Woops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28221834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LWhoScribbles/pseuds/LWhoScribbles
Summary: Baby, please come home.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26
Collections: 12 Days of Julie And The Fantoms





	12DaysofJATP - I'll be home for Christmas

It was hard still not to feel like a creep loitering in front of his parents’ front door. Luke steeled himself to go in. It would be the first time he’d seen the house at Christmas since he left.

At Christmas.

He hadn’t come back for the holiday or the following one or any others. He’d come and stared in the window a couple of times, maybe, but hadn’t made contact, hadn’t even called (with one exception in a moment of weakness on his mom’s birthday from a pay phone at a gas station in San Dimas, but he’d hung up quickly without saying anything as soon as the line picked up, so it didn’t count). At the time, he thought he had something to prove. He thought he had time to prove it.

Luke squared up his shoulders and pushed his feet through the door.

He didn’t know what he expected. So much hadn’t changed, but he stopped just in the door. The tree was up, but the lights were out. The table only had the regular tableware. The nativity was out, but none of the other little seasonal knickknacks he’d known every year of his life were anywhere to be seen. He turned around and went right back out the way he came and stared at the front of the house. One, two, three lights. No Christmas lights, no wreath, not even the poinsettias his mom always bought from the church fundraisers. It was all wrong. He went back in.

Luke’s mom loved Christmas. Like, she owned and loved her Christmas sweaters honestly, no joke. She _made_ half her own and one each for Luke and his dad. And the Christmas themed dish towels and oven pads. And a quilt that came out every year that was the softest, warmest blanket Luke ever knew. She handmade presents, baked like crazy, and put together dozens on dozens of small Christmas gift packs to hand out at the soup kitchen every year. The lights were always on and Luke’s dad would complain every year about the electric bill, but they all knew he loved coming home and seeing the house looking so cheery, too. Maybe it always drove Luke a little nuts, but this? This quiet? This was worse.

He walked around the house, unable to stop himself from cataloging everything that should be there and wasn’t. The house was practically frozen in time, though. The same hand towels in the guest bathroom. New fridge, but the same flowers on the kitchen counter. His dad’s jacket by the door that was already old when Luke was a kid. His mom’s favorite chair exactly where she could sit and watch the world go by out the window while she knitted. If he’d turned up here instead of at the studio, he probably wouldn’t have known for ages any time had passed until he actually saw his parents.

That thought gave him an actual feeling of pain where his heart would be. It’s like his head remembered where there used to be sensations and still tried to apply them, even though his body must be long gone. He had no idea if they’d buried or cremated him and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Not that the year 2020 wasn’t wild, but there were some things about the passage of time he wasn’t ready to face.

He went to his room last. A part of him hoped it had been turned into an office or a craft room or a freaking home gym or whatever. A part of him dreaded that it had. While he’d been passing in and out of doors and walls as he wandered, this door he physically opened.

Practically nothing had changed. It was cleaner than when he’d left. None of his clothes were on the floor. His cds and mix tapes were stacked on the shelf. His notebooks arranged on his desk. Nothing was gone except his school books, which he guessed had been returned at some point. He went around the room touching things.

And then he saw it.

The Christmas quilt was on his bed.

Had it been there since he left? Did his mom keep bringing it out only the once a year like always?

And his stocking. His stocking hung off the end of his bed just like when he was a kid.

It was full.

He stuffed his hand in and pulled out a few bits of paper, barely more than scraps. In his mother’s neat script:

_I miss you._

_I love you._

_I’m sorry._

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to throw everything in the room, hating the idea that he’d been a ghost in this house long before he’d ever come back, or if he wanted to run and never look back.

But that’s what had gotten them into this mess to begin with, hadn’t it?

He’d let his pride keep him away. He’d let his mom and dad suffer thinking they’d driven him out and probably off to his death.

And then it hit him. He’d left at Christmas.

He’d killed Christmas in this house. He’d ripped away his mom’s joy and left this shell filled with only memories. He’d done this by leaving when he did.

And now Luke knew what he had to do. He was bringing Christmas back.

“You’re gonna do what?” Julie said, finally looking up from her notebook. Luke paced her room, bouncing on the balls of his feet with every step.

“I’m bringing back Christmas!” he said, throwing his arms up. His hands flew as he explained about his parents, about all the missing decorations, about the ones he’d found, about the notes.

When he was done, Julie reached her hand out to him, tears and something unbearably tender in her eyes. He went to her without hesitation. It would never stop being amazing that they could do this now. That they could touch. He felt the agitation in his body settle and he waited for her to say something.

“Luke,” she started, biting her lip, like she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, “Luke, is this a good idea, though?” She gripped his hand tighter when he stiffened.

“What?”

She tugged on his hand like making sure a knot was secure. “No, listen, I understand what you’re saying. I understand what you want to do, but—,”

Luke yanked his hand away. “No, no, you don’t. How could you say that? I need to do this, Julie.”

“I know, Luke, I know, but—,”

Luke backed away and Julie pushed herself forward after him, reaching, trying to touch him, pull him back. Her fingers passed through his.

“No, you don’t know. You obviously don’t know. And I thought you most of all would get it.”

“Luke, please, listen to me, I do, but this could hurt them! This could hurt your mom!”

“No, I need to do this! I need to fix this!”

And then he was gone.

‘I’ll start small,’ Luke thought. He poofed into the attic of his childhood home banking on the Christmas box being in the same place as always.

Bingo!

He dug out a small, red, ceramic bird with feathers glued to the tail. It was always on the shelf as soon as December rolled around. He’d helped pull everything out often enough; he knew where to start and what went where, no problem. His mom just needed a little help, just like old times!

Luke held the bird safely against his chest and popped into the living room. His dad was in the kitchen puttering around. He wasn’t sure where his mom was, but she wasn’t in sight, which was enough. Gently, carefully, Luke set the little bird in its rightful spot and waited.

No one came immediately, of course, and he fiddled with it, trying to get the angle right, but then he decided maybe it’d be better to go and come back. Give it time.

Luke wailed on his guitar at practice. He saw Alex and Reggie throwing looks around like confetti at a pity party, but he didn’t care if they knew something was up.

Okay, he kinda cared, but he couldn’t tell them, even if he wanted to. It would feel like betrayal that he’d gone back home when they had no homes to go back to. But it was eating him alive! He wanted so badly to tell Julie, at least, about the first step of his plan, but he also kinda wanted to stay mad just a little bit longer. She knew what all this meant to him, after all, and she hadn’t _got it_ , she hadn’t _got_ what he wanted to do.

But she was also the only one who knew he’d been to see his family, who’d met his parents since he and the guys had come back.

And she was one of his best friends.

Luke let his fingers bang out the melody, ‘til he was practically playing percussion on his poor electric. When he came back up, he realized the jam had become a guitar solo, and Reggie and Alex were staring at him. Luke couldn’t meet Julie’s eyes.

“You—uh, you okay there?” Alex asked cautiously.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Luke blew the hair out of his face, the picture of cool.

“Really?” Reggie asked, obviously unconvinced.

“Mm, totally,” Luke fought hard not to look toward the keyboard, but caught himself looking through his lashes, anyway, like that was going to disguise anything at all. It didn’t. Julie similarly seemed to be struggling to keep her eyes anywhere but on Luke, her lips pressed, head turned, even as her shoulders hunched his way over her instrument. Luke quickly shoved his attention the opposite direction. Reggie and Alex seemed to be caught in a semi-telepathic, mostly-facial battle of communication. Alex finally huffed.

“Luke,” he said in his all business, Listen-Young-Man voice, but Julie cut him off.

“Hey, why don’t we take a break?” she jumped to her feet and shot each of the guys a meaningful look, saving Luke for last. He entertained a small, flickering hope that she’d leave it at that one look, because he really wasn’t ready to talk about it, but no such luck. She jerked her head toward the door, deliberately holding his gaze and refusing to back down.

Subtle.

He put the guitar down and slinked after Julie, the other guys practically burning a hole in his back as he went.

They’re barely out the door when Julie rounds on him. “Luke, I want to help you.”

Any leftover hurt feelings he had? Poof! Gone. “That’s great! Because I’ve already—,”

“You can’t—,”

“What?”

“You what?”

Luke gaped, his mouth moving on dried up words, before a new thought shot itself forward. “But… you just said…”

“Luke, you already what?” Julie asked. There was a look in her eye and Luke had the strangest sense of déjà-vu from childhood whenever he was suddenly forced to reconsider actions he had been so sure where genius at the time.

But he wasn’t six. And Julie wasn’t his mother. He was right about this, he knew he was.

“I can’t what, Julie?” It was more a demand than an actual question. He was pretty sure he knew what she was going to say he shouldn’t do, but his hurt heart wanted the vindication of hearing her say it.

She seemed to physically sway back, her shoulders coming up and then taking a hard set as she shifted from a half second of shock into determination, resolve. Luke was dimly aware of a small feeling of pride and admiration watching her strength rear up, but it stayed in the back seat behind the force of his irritation. He would not let her try to talk him out of this when it was _his mistake_ and _his family_ on the line. Julie Molina had _no right_.

“Look, I wouldn’t be saying anything if I didn’t care about you. You have to hear me out. Please,” she pleaded.

The guitarist on the cusp of eternity, fallen and clinging from the edge of greatness, clenched his jaw, took a step back, and straightened his spine.

“No,” he said, “I don’t,” and he looked away in case he was tempted by the pained disappointment radiating off his band leader. He turned around and marched back into the studio.

Reggie’s head jerked up a little too sharply as Luke blew back in. He had that teetering-on-uncertainty, might-cry look—the one where his cheeks and the rims of his eyes stained red and his mouth made a sad little, trembling gap—the look he got when band debates got too heated and things got too loud. Alex was giving Luke a grim look, like he wanted ask his question again, and maybe a few more pointed ones, which Luke stubbornly ignored. He picked up his guitar and fussed with the knobs, thumbing the strings. They all waited a minute together in silence, but Julie didn’t come back.

“Whatever,” Luke grunted and set the guitar back down, throwing himself into a chair.

Reggie slowly, carefully set his base down. Alex quickly pocketed his sticks and moved around his drums to grab Reggie’s wrist.

“Luke,” Alex said, already taking Reggie toward the door, “I dunno what’s going on, man, but this isn’t cool.” Alex pulled Reggie shuffling behind him out of the studio, leaving Luke to stew alone in regret.

Luke couldn’t _believe_ this day. He grabbed the edges of his knit cap and tugged it down as far as it would go. He wanted to scream. He shouldn’t have let his temper run away with him. The guys didn’t deserve that. And if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure Julie did either.

But how could she not see what was so obvious to him? His mom just needed to remember. His parents would be okay if they could just get back to normal. He just knew it! This thing where Christmas was barely happening in their house was all wrong!

He had a few hours scraping out words with a pen in his notebook before he noticed the light had changed. Julie’s dad would probably come around to check on the plants in a little while and Luke didn’t think he was really in the mood to hear him tell the plants about his day and his thoughts on what his kids were up to. He decided it was time to go check on the bird.

The bird was gone.

He frantically searched up and down the shelf, under the chairs, and in his mom’s yarn basket in case it had fallen, but then he heard a soft, ragged sniffle from the kitchen. He stopped and listened. It happened again. He ran toward it.

The little red bird was on the table in front of his mother. Her head was in her hands and her shoulders were shaking. Luke’s stomach dropped. She muffled a whimpering breath and he flinched. His dad’s soft, steady footsteps came from behind him and passed through toward her. He watched his father pause as he caught sight of the bird, watched his face crease like aging ten more years in a blink and then three more, and then keep moving to wrap his arms around his wife.

“Why?” she whispered.

His dad didn’t say anything, waiting.

“Why, Mitch?” she said again, her voice stronger, strangled.

He held her, rocked with her as she shook.

“Mitch, did you take his bird out?”

The man older than his years leaned back, but didn’t remove his arms. This seemed to be a shocking question. “No, I didn’t,” he said. “I thought you must have.”

Luke’s mom shook her head violently. “No, no, I didn’t. I couldn’t have.”

“Then—,” her husband spoke, but didn’t finish.

“Mitch, I feel like I’m losing my mind. After all these years, maybe this is retribution.” She took in a shuddering breath and Luke felt like his limbs and his head were detaching from the rest of him. There was a burning in his center and he felt frozen and helpless to stop what was happening in front of him.

“No, Emily, honey.”

“The door was open earlier,” she said, staring down at the bird.

“Which door?”

Luke knew which door.

“Luke’s,” she said, closing her eyes. Luke hadn’t even thought of it when he left. He’d come when they were sleeping in the very early morning, in the hours he no longer needed for that.

His dad shook his head and leaned his forehead against her shoulder.

“What if I’m doing this?”

“Mom, no!” Luke yelled at the same time as his dad whispered, “Emily,” begging.

She crumpled farther in on herself, clinging to the father of her lost child. She sobbed and Luke couldn’t stand to be there anymore.

Julie had Reggie’s head in her lap, Alex listening beside her on the bed as she spoke quietly while she petted Reggie’s hair. Luke poofed in bringing a whirling wind and agony. He threw himself on the end of the bed and at their mercy.

“I can’t—,” he struggled, brokenhearted, “I shouldn’t have—,” his voice cracked and cut and he cried.

“Luke!” Reggie sat up and threw himself over Luke’s back, crying into his shirt.

“Luke, what’s going on? Is it your parents? Are they okay?” Alex’s questions are urgent.

Luke looks over at Julie who hasn’t said a word. “You told?” he sniffles.

“Don’t be mad, Luke, we already knew,” Alex says quickly.

“We followed you one time,” Reggie says against Luke’s back.

“They were worried about you,” Julie offers, “I’m worried about you.”

Luke shook his head, dismissing it. It wasn’t important now. “I’m so sorry. I should have listened. I made everything worse.”

“Luke, talk to us. What happened?” Julie reaches over Reggie to brush the hair out of Luke’s face.

Alex tries to tug Reggie off Luke, but he refuses to budge.

“I couldn’t do anything,” Luke mutters miserably. “I can’t do anything to help them. I just made things worse.”

“What exactly did you do?” Alex asks tentatively.

“I tried to pull out one of my mom’s Christmas decorations from the attic.”

“Oh, dude,” Alex moans.

“And I put it in the living room where it belongs.”

“Oh, no,” Julie groans.

“But,” Reggie’s head pops up, “but it would have come out of nowhere.”

Luke plants his face in the bedspread and screams.

“We’re dead, man! If they weren’t pulling out all the usual stuff and one randomly appears, that’s—that’s a haunting!” Alex shakes his head in disbelief.

Reggie sits up, blinking. “Holy crap, you haunted your parents.”

“I moved other things in the house,” Luke admits, “I left my door open.”

“Oh, no,” Julie repeats with greater emphasis.

“I didn’t think!” Luke wails.

“No kidding,” Alex sighs flatly.

“You haunted your _parents_ on _Christmas!”_ Reggie drives the point home. “That’s got to be the worst Christmas present ever!”

“Oh my god, Reggie.”

“Dude, what the heck.”

“Oh my god, I KNOW!”

They all sit with this revelation giving it the proper room to breathe.

“I’m sorry, you guys,” Luke finally breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry, Luke, for pushing like I did,” Julie says next.

“No, I asked for your help and you tried to help me, you tried to stop me. It just wasn’t what I wanted to hear.”

“And?” Alex pokes him in the shoulder. Luke rolls onto his back.

“And I’m sorry for behaving like an asshole about it.” He makes eye contact with Alex, who nods, and then Reggie. “I’m sorry, Reggie.” Reggie nods and rubs his nose on his arm.

Julie eyes Reggie and the box of tissues on her desk, but then shrugs. Ghost snot.

“Well, now what?” Everyone looks at Alex. The drummer looks back at everyone, waiting.

“What do you mean, ‘now what?’ I can’t ever go back. My mom thinks she’s losing it. I think I really scared the shit outta her.” Luke feels a new wave of guilt and nausea and wonders if ghosts can puke.

Julie purses her lips, thinking. Reggie chews on one nail anxiously.

“No, he’s right, we can’t leave it like that,” she says. The guys turn to her and Luke thinks he might find out if ghosts can ralph after all at what she might be suggesting.

“You can’t be serious,” he says.

“What if—,” Reggie starts, but stops, looking unsure.

“What if?” Luke encourages him.

“Well, what if we do, like, a ‘Christmas Carol’ kind of thing?”

“You want to haunt my parents—on purpose now?”

Julie says, “Huh,” but doesn’t object.

“What happened to ‘worst Christmas present ever’ exactly?”

“I mean, could be better than letting your mom think she’s losing her marbles or whatever,” Alex says speculatively staring at the ceiling.

“It could be like a Christmas miracle,” Julie throws in.

“Oh, okay, is that all?” Luke thunks his head back against the bed. “Honestly, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it can’t be any worse than what I’ve already done, I guess.”

Alex thumps Luke’s chest loudly a few times. “That’s the spirit.”

They spent the rest of the evening mapping out a plan.

_“First,” Julie said, “we should make sure she’s thinking about memories as a good thing.”_

The next day she knocked on the door with a decorated Tupperware container under one arm.

_“My mom did a lot of baking with us, too, like your mom did with you. We used to go around on Christmas eve to people we knew to share with everyone. Let’s do that.”_

_“Sounds great, Julie.”_

Mitch opened the door. “Julie! Can I help you?”

“Hey, Mr. Patterson, I just had something I wanted to give you and your wife for Christmas. Is this a bad time?” She peeked around the door frame, trying not to be too obvious. Reggie and Alex fidgeted behind her and Luke scuffed his foot on the pavement behind them.

“Oh, no, of course. Come in.” Luke’s dad opened the door wider and Julie made a small show of shifting the box from one arm to the other while the guys trooped in around her, and then she followed behind. The four of them followed Mr. Patterson into the living room where Mrs. Patterson sat with a pile of knitting in her lap, her hands still.

“Hi, Mrs. Patterson. I hope you don’t mind me coming back by.”

The older woman startled and turned around in her seat to face their guest. She smiled when she saw the girl who’d gifted her Luke’s song before. “Oh, hello, again! This is a surprise!”

Julie felt Luke tug the arm of her sweater. “That’s the bird,” he whispered, pointing to a little red bird on a shelf.

Emily immediately followed Julie’s gaze and her mouth wavered.

Crap.

“That’s pretty,” Julie blurted. Mrs. Patterson startled again, her attention back on Julie.

“It—,” Luke’s mom and dad shared a fleeting look between them and he took her hand in his, “It was Luke’s first Christmas ornament. He picked it out himself.”

“Wouldn’t leave the store without it,” his dad added wryly. His wife smiled unsteadily.

“I didn’t know,” Julie heard behind her.

Julie wasn’t sure if this was going better or worse than planned.

“That’s really sweet,” she said, genuinely meaning it.

Mitch cleared his throat. “You said you have something for us?”

“Oh! Yeah, here!” She held out the box to Luke’s mom specifically. “My mom died a little over a year ago now,” she rushed to explain, “and we—that is my family and I are trying to do things together that we always did with her, you know, to remember her. She and my brother and I always used to bake a lot and then we’d go take some to everyone for Christmas. It was like a tradition for us. And these are for you.”

“Oh, that’s very kind, thank you,” Mrs. Patterson didn’t seem to know quite what to do with all that information.

“Smooth,” Alex whispered.

“There’s—ah, empanadas—I don’t know if you like pineapple, but they’re pretty great if you do, Mom’s secret recipe, and there’s chocolate kiss thumbprint cookies, and brownies and—uh, well, a bunch of stuff,” she trailed off, beginning to wish the guys hadn’t come with her to witness this disaster.

“Quick exit?” Reggie whispered. Julie resisted the urge to nod vigorously.

“It sounds lovely, thank you,” Mrs. Patterson smiled again, this time it reached her eyes better and Julie instantly felt less ridiculous.

“Well, I’d better go.” Julie started backing toward the door, smiling back. “Merry Christmas! Have a great night!”

Mr. Patterson smiled and wished her the same as he opened the door for her, thanking her again for thinking of them.

“Wow,” Alex applauded her on the walk back. Reggie slowly started to clap, too, not entirely sure he should have with the look Julie shot them.

“Shut up,” she said sticking her tongue out, but she was casting glances toward Luke as they walked. “You okay?” She finally asked.

“I didn’t know about the bird. Or I guess I didn’t remember.” He looked at the houses as the walked past, but didn’t seem to really be seeing them. Reggie jogged around to bump Luke’s shoulder with his own, a reminder, ‘We’re here, buddy. We got you.’ Luke tossed him a brief half smile.

_“Okay, we need to make sure if we do anything, both your parents are in the room.”_

_“So neither of them feels like they’re just seeing things if they’re both seeing it.”_

_“Exactly, Reggie.”_

Luke, Alex, and Reggie return to the house later that evening.

“So your mom kept the bird out.” Alex nodded toward its spot on the shelf.

“That’s a good thing, right?” asks Reggie.

“Yeah, probably,” Luke shrugs. “Mom seemed less weird about it when we came with Julie earlier, anyway.”

“So what do we do now?”

Luke gives another jerky shrug. Alex sighs and Reggie wanders toward the kitchen.

“Hey, they’re in here,” he says.

Alex and Luke follow Reggie into the kitchen where Luke’s parents are cooking dinner together.

Mitch is cutting vegetables. Emily is seasoning chicken. The house is silent except for the incidental noises of the knife repeatedly slicing through carrots and celery, and the periodic shake of some herb or other as the chicken is dressed for cooking.

Alex spots an old radio on the counter next Julie’s Tupperware and quietly rotates the dial to the fm Christmas station, hoping it hasn’t changed in the last 25 years. He looks back to the guys, who both nod their approval, and he clicks the radio on. The kitchen is suddenly filled with the sounds of Darlene Love belting out, **“They’re singing deck the halls, but it’s not like Christmas at all.”**

“Mitch?” Emily drops the pepper shaker.

**“You should be here with me. Baby, please come home.”**

Mr. Patterson sets the knife down and turns to frown at the radio. “Must be the batteries. That thing’s pretty old now.” He clicks off the radio.

Reggie clicks the radio back on.

**“’Cause I remember when you were here and all the fun we had”**

Emily comes to stand next to Mitch. His frown deepens and he clicks the radio back off.

There’s a tense moment where everyone watched the radio and then Luke clicked it back on.

**“Once again as in olden days happy golden days of yore. ”**

Mitch clicked it back off and Luke immediately clicked it back on.

**“Someday soon we all will be together if the fates will allow.”**

Emily flipped the radio over and yanked out the batteries.

Reggie whistled. “Damn.”

She left the radio face down and went back to the chicken. After a moment of hesitation in which Mitch seemed to be contemplating first the radio and then his wife, be returned to cutting the vegetables.

“Hey, Alex,” Luke nudged him. “You think you can do that thing Willie showed you with the lights?”

Alex shrugged. “I can try.” He held a hand out to the radio and concentrated, but nothing happened.

Reggie patted him on the shoulder. Luke watched his dad load the cut vegetables into the bottom of a roasting pan.

“Hang on, I got this,” Alex waved him off. He held his hand out again and wiggled his fingers at the radio. This time it kicked on.

**“I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams”**

And then the radio made a loud popping noise and the kitchen was silent again.

Emily and Mitch stared at it with varying degrees of alarm.

“Shit,” Alex swore.

“You killed it,” Reggie stared in awe.

“Huh,” Luke said.

“Maybe you should take it outside,” Emily said, voice shaking.

“Yeah, probably best,” Mitch agreed. He washed his hands and dried them on a plain kitchen towel, picked up the radio and took it out to the big trash bin.

Luke began to pace. His mother braced both her hands on the edge of the stove and held her breath and released. She counted, inhaling, held her breath again, and released. She did this a number of times. Alex and Reggie politely looking away. Luke was unable to pretend he didn’t notice his mom needing to collect herself. Finally, she went back to the chicken, put it in the pan and put the pan in the oven. She seemed determined to carry on as if nothing had happened.

Mitch came back in and kissed her on the head as he passed to the fridge. He seemed to recognize the plan to pretend everything was fine.

How long had that been the plan, Luke wondered. Always, he thought in the same instant.

“You guys…” all of a sudden, he doesn’t know if this is a good idea anymore.

Alex comes around to grip him with one arm. “She just doesn’t know it’s you, and now she’s not the only one who’s seen weird things. Come on, we’re working on it, okay?”

Reggie nods and gives a thumbs up, grinning reassurance. Luke nods, too, now bolstered and glad he isn’t alone for this.

“So we gotta show her it’s me, right?”

They hung around through dinner, killing time waiting for an opportunity to do something else by kicking around ideas. Reggie wanted to flicker the lights.

“How would that tell them its me?”

Alex suggested writing a note.

“Would they even be able to read Luke’s handwriting?”

“I mean, they’re his parents, soooo—,”

“Gee, thanks, fellas.”

Reggie went to flicker the Christmas tree lights, anyway, just for fun. It’s not like they would see it from the kitchen, right?

“Mitch, maybe we should unplug the tree.”

Mr. Patterson stared over his shoulder at the light blinking on and off spilling into their kitchen.

“You’re right. Could be a fire hazard,” he said and went and unplugged the tree.

Alex put his face in his palm and Luke sent a why-me groan to the ceiling.

“Sorry, guys.”

Later, when they were all settled in the living room, Alex and Reggie bickering about the merits of white table cloths vs patterns, Luke wandered around the room looking at pictures, touching things (careful not to move anything).

His dad read the paper, humming every so often in thought. His mom’s needles clicked as she worked steadily. It looked like maybe a baby blanket. He wondered for the first time if any of his cousins had kids by now.

The little red bird—his bird, he now knew—sat back where he’d put it before. Had they ever told him it was his? He couldn’t recall and it made him sad. How many other stories from his own life did he not know? Without thinking, he picked it up.

Alex and Reggie abruptly stopped talking.

Luke heard before he turned to look the creak of two chairs as his parents stood. He froze, bird in hand.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Alex.

“They can’t take the batteries out of that.” Reggie.

Emily approached slowly, steadying herself on her husband’s arm. Mitch barely seemed to register that she’d done it, but automatically put his hand over hers, anyway.

“What do I do?” Luke was starting to panic.

“Whatever you do, don’t drop the bird,” Alex said helpfully.

And then Emily held her hand out. Cautiously, palm up, and Luke knew what to do. Just as carefully, so as not to scare them anymore, Luke gently gave her the bird. He held his hand over the top of hers, pressing down on the bird lightly, like the same pressure he used to use squeezing her fingers when she’d take his hand as a kid.

“I’m here, Mom,” he whispered, knowing she couldn’t hear him.

Emily looked like she’d stopped breathing. Mitch hadn’t looked away from the bird, but tears had begun to drip down his face, running in the channels of his age-weathered skin.

“Luke?” Emily whispered.

“She knows it’s you!” Reggie also whispered, loudly, excited.

Luke rushed to the pictures on the little table across the room and made a grab at his baby picture. It took a couple of tries, because his fingers slipped through in his haste.

“You got it!” and “Come on, man!” and he had it. He jogged the framed photo to his parents and nudged his father in the arm with it until the man took it.

“Luke,” he choked out, laughing a bit hysterically.

“How?” Emily stared back and forth between the bird and the picture and then up at Mitch who just shook his head.

“Now what?” Luke spun around looking for something else, anything else he could use to communicate.

“Sing!” Reggie shouted.

“What?”

“No, yeah, sing!” Alex caught on and flapped his hands in a wild go-on-go-on gesture.

“Sing what???”

“Anything!”

Luke hopped back in front of his parents, aching for the confused joy and pain on their faces, and opened his mouth.

**“I’ll be home for Christmas,**

**You can plan on me”**

He wasn’t sure it was working at first. No one moved.

And then his dad cleared his throat and joined him.

**“Please have snow and mistletoe**

**And presents on the tree”**

His mom made a half start and stopped, her voice catching.

**“Christmas eve will find me**

**Where the love light gleams”**

She tried again, a little wobbly, a little watery, Mitch putting an arm around her like he could physically share his energy with her.

**“I’ll be home for Christmas**

**If only in my dreams”**

Emily’s voice grew and so did Luke’s, and if his voice got a little scratchy, a little thick, no one seemed to care.

**“Won’t you please have snow and mistletoe**

**And presents under the tree…”**

They trailed off by some unspoken agreement, Luke and his parents weeping together. He was vaguely aware of Alex and Reggie coming around at some point to put their arms around him and Reggie sobbing against his shoulder, Alex sniffling in his ear.

“I’m sorry, Luke. I’m so sorry,” his mother apologized to the little bird.

“No, mom, I’m sorry.” He reached a hand out to press on the bird like he did before.

“We should have been there for you,” his father said.

“Dad,” Luke, who’d always known his dad to be a very calm and even keel person, watched his father breaking down openly.

Reggie broke off from their huddle and ran behind the tree. The lights flickered to life throwing glittering brightness over the room. He reappeared with a big, wet smile on his face.

Alex laughed, “Good job, man,” and held an arm out to him to welcome him back into the huddle. Luke laughed and nodded, wiping at his face.

“Thank you, thank you for coming home to us,” his mother cried.

“Thank you, Luke.” His father pulled her to him and tucked the mother of their boy under his chin.

“I love you guys,” Luke said, a fresh wave of tears taking him over. He stepped forward and tugged the picture from his dad’s hand, took it back to its spot. He watched his parents holding each other up, burning the image of them lit by the Christmas tree together into his mind, and then he looked to his guys watching him, and grinned, tossing his head to the door. They grinned back and all three of them poofed out for home.

“I think he’s gone,” Mitch said softly.

“Our baby came home,” Emily whispered in awe, pulling back to look up, not letting go. Mitch nodded, giving her the confirmation she seemed to be seeking, and then he pulled her back in, humming low for her and for his son, wherever he was now.

If you asked them years later, neither of them could tell you who began the gentle sway and step, but both would tell you, smiling with a funny kind of peace, dancing alone together in their living room, to the memory their son, is one of their most treasured Christmases. 


End file.
